


Бу́дет и на на́шей у́лице пра́здник. (Our time to triumph shall come)

by artifex_vitae_artifex_sui



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Felicity had a fucked up childhood, Gen, a little bit of olicity at the end, felicity has a russian past AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artifex_vitae_artifex_sui/pseuds/artifex_vitae_artifex_sui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity's father was in the Bratva and her mother was young and naive. The mob life takes its toll on both of them and when their daughter Felicity is born that past sends her life into a chaotic spiral. Proving that no matter how hard you run everything always catches up and the world is a small, small place. Prompt by: misslittle24(tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Бу́дет и на на́шей у́лице пра́здник. (Our time to triumph shall come)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misslittle24](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=misslittle24).



> Trigger Warning: Drugs, domestic violence and prostitution
> 
> So I have never attempted this, taking a prompt and writing a one shot. Yet, misslittle24 thought I was the person to do this and after much thought and contemplation I got inspired and decided to give it a try. So, here goes nothing. This is un-Beta’d because my fantastic beta is already overwhelmed and working on my other stories so every mistake is all mine.

Russia is a cold and unforgiving place that just as easily embraces you as spits you out, dead if you are lucky. It breeds tough unyielding people with the resilience to survive wars, poverty, and Stalin. Russian women are a force to be reckoned with. The old adage that says that behind every strong man there is an even stronger woman was probably thought of with a Russian woman in mind. That woman, however, was not Irina Grevok, the meek, woman with understated beauty from St. Petersburg. The only time she ever put her foot down was when she followed Kurit to Moscow at the age of 17. That moment would be her downfall.

Strength and ruthlessness are practically embedded on young boys trying to crawl out of the gutter. The sure fire way to either die young or be somebody was to join the The Solntsevskaya Bratva. Konstantin “Kurit” Ginzburg knew the risk, but from the time he learned to pick pocket he had his eyes set high, high within the Bratva and nothing would stop him. The day he met Irina he questioned that absolute for the first time ever. The day she followed him to Moscow she cemented his ambition.

The first years were better than great. Irina was pure radiance and Kurit although tough and stoic he loved Irina. More than anything he loved her dedication to him, her support of his goals and the way she seemed to revel in his involvement with the Bratva. The day he became a Byki (bodyguard) they celebrated with an expensive bottle of Vodka and some cocaine. They spent the weekend high, drunk, and making love. Their lifestyle changed quick and drastically. Suddenly they had more money, a better home and were invited to the Bratva gatherings. She was an official mob wife and she loved it. The liquor flowed fast, the drugs roamed loosely and the money wasted quickly.

Three years later when Anatoli Knyazev the Pakhan (leader) named him The Soveitnik (councilor/ right hand to the Pakhan) he celebrated with his comrades by drinking and sleeping with a couple of ‘mob groupies’. Irina was in her apartment a bag of cocaine on the coffee table her slumped form half on the couch and half on the floor, divorce papers shredded into little pieces scattered everywhere. Little by little Kurit had half the Bratva turning their backs on Irina until he had enough and made himself crystal clear

“You either sign the fucken papers and get lost or I will fucken kill you, do you hear me”

She might have been an addict, living on fumes and with this divorce officially alone but her survival instincts superseded everything and she signed and she disappeared, for a bit.

The next time Kurit had news of her; the rumors said that she was a call girl on the eastside of Moscow. He had assumed she would return to St. Petersburg, he tried to move past the news but something inside of him stirred. Call it nostalgia or guilt but he sent men to confirm the rumors. A week later he sent for her. The minute she sauntered through the front door he couldn’t recognize her. She was overtly thin, dark circles under her eyes, dry rough skin and short ashy hair. His stomach lurched and he embraced her whispering soft apologies into her hair.

A year later she was almost back to her old self, yet, she couldn’t seem to shake the drugs and alcohol. Kurit couldn’t shake the gambling, alcohol and lifestyle. Slowly, but surely the conflict started and escalated. The day he almost raised his hand at her, after finding her passed out on the bathroom floor, she bolted, crying out the door, itching for a fix. Quickly falling back into her old crowd she found herself contemplating walking the streets, the need for money detrimental and the need for drugs stronger than her love for herself. When her withdrawals landed her in the hospital, she decided walking the streets would never be an option again. In eight months she would be a mother; her child would not be like her, her child would be one of those strong willed proud Russians she always admired, her child would be her salvation.

She had left Russia the minute she was cleared to travel. She had settled in Las Vegas, Nevada, the temptation was high but she felt also necessary to make her into the woman her daughter needed her to be. She was a cocktail waitress in a low end bar, she struggled every day and went home to her daughter Felicity Meghan Smoak every morning. The first day she arrived, the first thing she saw was an ad, it was like a godsend:

_‘God never sends you more than you can handle. Your felicity is within reach’_

After that the pieces seemed to fall into place. Deciding that for all the bad Kurit had also given her some of her best memories she honored him by giving her a surname in his honor. Kurit meant smoke in Russian, yet, being new to the language when asked to fill in the paperwork she spelled it wrong. An adorable mistake for an adorable little girl.

She was 14 months clean when Kurit found her again. Here she was with a tray full of drinks face to face with the man she had fled from. She wished with everything in her not to find recognition in his eyes. He let his gaze drink her in and then he was on the move. She immediately turned around claimed to be sick and left home. She was halfway packed, having already called a contact in Los Angeles when there was a knock at her door, the call of her name sent her blood running cold.

“Irina Grevok as I live and breath. I know I am probably the last person you want to see but, please I just want to talk. I promise.”

Until this day she doesn’t know why she believed there was honesty in his voice. Maybe it was her wishful thinking, nostalgia, a desire to give their family a second chance or perhaps it was much simpler than that. All that time and distance had done nothing. She was still the lost naïve 17 year old from St. Petersburg. Whatever the reason she opened the door and for 9 years 8 months and 13 days they were a happy family. He never left his work with the Bratva and she never asked him to. He watched his little Filly grow into the smartest, most determined and hardheaded little girl he had ever met. In the home they only spoke Russian and by the time she was 5 she spoke three languages fluently. She was his pride and joy and her one true salvation.

When the news reached them of a power struggle within the Bratva he was forced to return to Moscow. This time around Irina did not follow him. Three months turned into a year and one year into two. They would receive letters and updates when comrades would stop by the city but Kurit never visited. Felicity retreated further into herself with every passing day until Irina could see almost no trace of the vibrant little daddy’s girl. When they received word that Kurit had gone missing Irina didn’t have the heart to tell her daughter instead concocting one preposterous story after another. Felicity quickly learned to distinguish the truth from a lie. As time passed and they found themselves alone once again Irina was forced to return to work, yet, right before her eyes the city had drastically changed and not being a young beautiful 25 year old anymore finding work as a cocktail waitress, in the bigger hotels which paid better, she began to take one odd job after another. Before she knew it she was at a party being offered $10,000 to sleep with a man whose name she couldn’t even remember.

With a fourteen year old daughter at home she contemplated the offer but the minute Felicity’s face flashed before her eyes she walked away. Felicity eventually stopped asking about her father, she also stopped speaking Russian and Irina never knew how but she managed to change her surname back to Smoak. Irina felt a failure and after 14 years sober she once again took solace in an old friend, alcohol.

It started slow and Felicity didn’t notice at first. Then she began picking her up stupidly drunk from the bar of the day. By the time she was in her junior year she was tired, she was defeated and she had given up on her mother. She broke her back working night shifts while going to school during the day and being at the top of her class. When she decided that she would not walk in her mother’s footsteps she began to save every last penny she could spare, with a drunk mother, that was almost nothing.

After cleaning out for a week straight at her friend’s poker night he jokingly suggested she take her skills to the actual casinos. At the moment she brushed it off but that night she convinced herself that trying once or twice was okay. By the end of her junior year she had managed to save over $60,000 plus set up a trust for her mother to live off of when she left.

Two weeks before her graduation and 3 months shy of her 17th birthday she received the report that would simultaneously revive and shatter her world. Her father was still alive, he was in Russia and had recently taken over the role of Pakhan due to Anatoli’s sudden disappearance. In the Bratva when one pillar falls one automatically takes its place and apparently that was her father. She contemplated following him to Moscow yet, being a computer genius and all she decided to dig deep into who her father really was. What she found would destroy every last good memory of him she held, her appreciation for her mother’s strength would skyrocket but her determination to leave this toxic family would cement itself further and deeper within her. She contemplated every option until the choice was made for her.

One late night after her shift at the diner she made it home to find the door ajar and glass all over the floor. She was immediately on high alert. She made her way carefully through the house and then she heard her mother. She was speaking Russian with two men. They looked intimidating and like they were not buying the bullshit she was selling. The closer she got she realized they were asking about her. Her mother looked a bit frazzled but unharmed. Yet, she could note the worry in her voice as she told them that her ungrateful daughter had left her following some boy to god knows where. She said she hadn’t heard from her in almost 6 months and that she wanted nothing to do with her. The men insisted that she find her, Kurit wanted his daughter in Moscow with him. Her mom simply raised her chin stood up and looked them dead on as she said ‘good luck with that’. Then walked towards the door to show them out.

Felicity tried to scurry and hide but having forgotten about the glass she slipped and stumbled. The men immediately heard her and pushed through her towards the front. Felicity reacted quickly and on instinct. Rounding the corner she broke a vase over one of their heads as he slumped over she brought up her knee with force and crashed it straight into the man’s face sending him reeling with blood gushing from his nose. The second man went for his gun but Irina jumped on his back clawing at whatever she could. Felicity took the distraction kneed him between his legs and slammed her elbow into his throat. As he dropped onto his knees she kicked him across the face and he was out cold. Her mother picked up the gun and knocked out the other man. As they stood there breathing heavy and frightened Felicity knew she needed a new start, she needed her own fresh start.

They cleaned up and called in some favors moving the bodies. Then she hacked into Interpol, the FBI, Homeland and the local PD and made them highly wanted men with terrorist links. She had to make sure they would have no chance of ever speaking to her father. She needed to make sure they never spoke to anyone again who didn’t have a badge and she also made sure to let them know that if they did she would make sure to make the world know that they were rats. They seemed to take the threat seriously and waited tied up as they LVPD picked them up. That night she went home and read through her acceptance letter again she grabbed a pen and filled out her letter of intent. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology would be the out she needed.

By her sophomore year in college her mother was in her second treatment facility in Central City and Felicity had high hopes that this would be the last. Their relationship although still strained had grown leaps and bounds and they stayed in contact as best they could. Her father remained the head of the Bratva and besides his occasional run in with the law he seemed to be doing well. He had tried to find her once more. But her mother risked everything and faced him to tell him the story she had once told him men. He refused to believe her but had no choice, Felicity loved her for that. Felicity made sure he never came asking again and her mother quickly moved to Coast City. Yet, Felicity’s curiosity got the best of her and she began to look into Kurit, again. She discovered that he was finally being accepted as the official leader of the Bratva, the search for Anatoli Knyazev officially over. She knew she had to bury her identity because with the power of the Bratva behind him if he really wanted to, he could find her. He never did.

She graduated a year and a half early from MIT top of her class, no one was there to watch her walk the stage, there was no joyous dinner. Straight after she headed home and began to pack. Her first day of work at Lex Corp was in a week and she had no time to spare. She lasted seven months at Lex Corp until one fateful day she heard a name she never thought anyone would ever use again. Across the lobby a heavily accented voice called in her direction

“Irina? Irina Ginzburg? No? Can’t be”

She tried to school her features before turning but the fear was evident in her eyes and the shaking of her hands. As the elderly man approached her his surprise wore off as he seemed to realize it wasn’t her. He apologized and insisted that she was the spitting image of a woman he once knew back in Moscow. A beauty just like her. Golden hair, blue eyes and the sweetest face he had ever laid eyes on. She smiled and jokingly told him that she dyed her hair. He laughed at her sincerity, apologized and excused himself but, not before sending a second glance in her direction and talking about her to his partners as they turned and looked at her. She waved and made her way out of Lex Corp. That night she emailed her resignation and two days later she had interviews with Wayne Industries, Stellmoor International, and Queen Consolidated. As she waited for her plane her tablet dinged, the minute she read the message she knew she had made the right choice. Apparently Mr. Leonov had mentioned his little encounter. Her father was in Metropolis having been flagged by Interpol.

Walter Steele had won her over. His intrinsic kindness and enthusiasm to work with her made her choice easy. She would work for Queen Consolidated. Starling City turned out to be a great place. She was close enough to visit her mom at least during the Holidays yet, far enough removed from her past that she no longer felt haunted by it. She made friends, experienced genuine relationships, loved and lost and had the best two years of her life. On a simple Wednesday, no different than any other her mother called her six times and left her two voicemails, all before her lunch break. Feeling a little anxious she opted to call rather than listen to her voice messages. Anatoli Knyazev was alive and back in Russia. At first she didn’t really understand how this was important to her until her mom said

“Kurit won’t let go of his position. With Anatoli back there will be a power struggle and in a Bratva war there are no rules. I need to disappear, konfetka. We need to disappear until this all passes.”

“Mom, I will be okay, they will never find me don’t worry. I will send you money and get you in contact with a friend and have you relocate out of the country for your peace of mind. I promise mom they will not find us.”

“Thank you, konfetka, ya tebya lyublyu”

“I love you too, mom”

Felicity made sure to keep her promise to her mother and more importantly made sure to keep a close eye on everything that was going on within the Bratva. At first things seemed to have gone off without a hitch. Her father had stepped down, Anatoli was back in power and the Bratva was just as strong as always. Three months into this ‘bliss’ things started to happen. Boyeviks and Kryshas started to drop like flies. No one seemed to know who this enemy was and then all hell broke loose. Her father made a play for the top and brothers began to kill brothers. There was chaos everywhere and then there just wasn’t. Her father was dead, truly dead this time. During an attempt on Anatoli he was killed by his new brigadier, captain, whom had come back with him to Russia.

She cried, she allowed herself to cry for one full night. As the morning announced its arrival she wiped her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She could see traces of her father in the blue of her eyes, the bow of her lips, her strong shoulders. She took a deep breath and on exhale let it all go

“Live by the sword, die by the sword” in that moment that was her way to honor the man she once loved, and admired. Her own personal hero. She gave herself those seconds to forget all the bad and focus on the man that tucked her in at night, read her stories and always told her she was strong, she was will, she was the embodiment of the determination she set forth into the world. She could be anything she wanted and he would always be proud, always. Then as he kissed her he would whisper,

“Бу́дет и на на́шей у́лице пра́здник.” Which literally meant ‘There will be a holiday in our street too.’ What he meant was that their day to triumph shall come. That was his life motto. Whether she allowed herself to dwell on it or not it was hers too. She always pushed through knowing that her day to triumph was just around the corner. She thanked him, washed her face and made her way to work, it was just another Tuesday morning.

Two years later almost to the day a man to once again call a hero would enter her office. Carrying an air of nonchalance and introduce himself

“Felicity Smoak? Hi I am Oliver Queen”

Instantly setting her future a blaze and unknowingly to either of them bringing to the forefront their past. A past they had so greedily been running away from. Life was funny and cruel that way. They didn’t know it, yet, but they would be each other’s salvation, but not before they hurt each other more than anyone ever had. At their darkest moment her mother would offer them her most cherished words of wisdom,

_‘God never sends you more than you can handle. Your felicity is within reach’_

Felicity being felicity would take it literally, smile at her mother kiss her cheek and whisper “If only it was that simple mamulya” She would thank her and with infinite sadness would head home. Irina would only shake her head a sad smile on her lips as she looked up and wished her daughter would see the truth soon enough.

Oliver would read so much into it that while Irina had her suspicions, the look he would give her as he processed her words would confirm every suspicion she ever held. He would open his mouth to refute her but Irina would just smile at him take his face in her hands then pull him forward into a warm motherly hug. Something he had been missing for too long. She would whisper their own personal secret in Russian then she would kiss his cheek and encourage him to go and find his felicity.

They would find each other, they would save each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how i feel about this but hopefully you guys enjoy it!! Let me know what you think!!


End file.
